Chapter 21
Penny
apennyforyourbooks: book boyfriend has been reading all your suggestions for dirty talk and this girl is ready to test him. Tell me, what’s your favorite dirty word? For the record, I think the sexiest word a man can murmur is “Mine.”
I click out of the Instagram app. I’ve spent the better part of the morning replying to DMs and comments. I can barely keep up with them now. And the orders that have been rolling in have been nothing short of amazing—this influx of cash might actually make it possible for me to hire some help.
It’s the last Saturday of September and the second official event of the Maple Festival—apple picking followed by the bake-off—tonight.
Everyone will pick their apples, then go to the bakery to choose their ingredients before we all head home to prepare our treats.
The girls and I are working together. I’m confident that, with Tally as our partner, we’re a shoo-in to win.
Our local apple orchards are owned by the Oakley family.
With three sons—two of which work in the fire department and one who is our chief of police—they are very involved in Hope Harbor.
Fortunately for the town, that meant they allowed the festival to host this event at their orchard and are donating all the proceeds to the committee.
I still can’t believe we’re doing all this for a hot tub for the senior center.
But a part of me is not surprised—this is Hope Harbor, after all.
And if it’s a little kooky, we’re all in.
Puttering around the shop now, my heart races at the thought of seeing Monty later. It’s been one week since our date, since the kisses.
In the past seven days, we’ve exchanged a slew of text messages, most of which are centered around his next lesson.
When he dropped me at home on Saturday night, I ran inside and sent him off with a stack of books that included some of my favorite dirty talk.
While I enjoy reading spicy books, I’ve never had a man speak to me the way the men in my books do.
The more time Monty and I spend fake dating, the more I realize the lessons are helping me just as much as him.
I’m trying to figure out what I like in real life, while he works out how to write about it.
I gave him examples of all of it: degradation, praise, sweet talk, as well as some darker options.
A well-placed good girl gets me just as hot as a dirty little slut. Though no one has ever murmured those words to me, which means I’m not sure if I’d actually like it outside of my books.
But if my reaction to Monty’s first text was any indication, I’d say I’m not disgusted by it. Not in the slightest.
Monty: I can’t stop thinking about the way your skin flushed such a pretty pink tonight, Xuxuzinho.
I’d grown hot just staring at the words on the screen, and it took me so long to respond that he followed it up with another text.
Monty: Just warming you up. This is what you want right? Me to test out the dirty talk on you?
I ignored the weird pinch in my chest at those words. Of course Monty wasn’t really flirting with me. He was practicing—just like I told him he should, just like with our kiss.
I’d responded quickly then, wanting to reassure him that it was perfectly acceptable, and the text I received the next morning was proof that he trusted I was fine with it.
Monty: Morning Xuxuzinho. Had a dream about you last night. Woke up wishing I actually had the taste of you on my tongue.
The toy in my nightstand was used twice that day. Clearly, my goal not to make myself come while thinking about Monty has gone out the freaking window.
I thought I’d encountered every version of sexy talk through my books, but this morning, Monty proved me wrong.
Monty: Can’t wait to feed you today.
That was it. That was the text. And I am currently squirming trying to figure out how I’ll make it through an entire afternoon, in front of our neighbors, knowing that text exists on my phone.
Who knew being fed was my kink?
When I spot my sister rushing across Maple Lane with her signature yellow-and-pink to-go box in hand, I open the shop’s door for her. “Oh, what do you have there?”
“Good morning to you, too.” Tally giggles. “Apple cinnamon donuts fresh out of the oven. I made a bunch for the event later but figured I would trade you a pumpkin spice latte for a warm one.”
“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” I say as I reach for the box. She tugs it back and I laugh. “Fine. Follow me. Coffee awaits.”
“I’ll just hold on to these deliciously warm donuts.” Tally winks and her long caramel waves bounce as she heads toward the window seat that we both love so much. “In other words, don’t take too long.”
I rush upstairs and get to work on our lattes, snagging a cozy cashmere sweater on my way down. Five minutes later, I’m curled up in my favorite chair, the autumn sun warming my face, when I take my first sip of coffee.
“Thanks for this,” I say to my sister. Tally admitted to me last spring that her dream was to open a bakery across the street from me so we could have mornings like this for the rest of our lives.
The reality is better than I could have ever imagined.
For so long, my sister barely spent any time in Hope Harbor; having her back is amazing, but having her right across the street brings a comfort I never knew I needed.
“Of course,” she replies. “Though I promised Mom I’d drop off some at the house before taking them to the orchard, so I can’t stay too long.”
“I can take them,” I offer. “I haven’t been by the farm all week.”
Guilt hits me as I say the words. Normally—before Monty came back to town—I’d spend every free moment I had at the farm.
When my father was still alive, I’d help him sell our golden and red mums, bales of hay, and even pumpkins as soon as fall hit.
I might prefer to pick my pumpkins from a patch, but there are plenty of people who like the grab-and-go nature of the farm shop.
My mom also had a whole selection of fall decorations to sell.
Those offerings were second to the large maze and haunted tractor rides the farm hosted every year—though the thought of running those events without our dad is unbearable.
“How are things going on the farm?” I ask Tally now.
“Okay, I guess. They’ve got their last wedding next weekend. After that it will be too cold. Walker’s looking into heating for the cottages but it’s a big expense.”
For the past year, Walker has been working hard to turn the farm into a profitable business.
One of his ideas has been to fix up the thirteen cottages on the property so he can rent them out to wedding guests in spring and summer, and to tourists in autumn and winter. Heat would obviously help with that.
I focus on the pretty tree right outside my store—some of the leaves have already started to turn a mesmerizing golden color.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about the maze and the haunted hayride,” Tally says, drawing me back to our conversation.
I lean forward. The haunted hayride was always my favorite. Actually, I can’t say that, because I love almost every event during this season. Pumpkin picking, the haunted hayride, bonfire nights. I suck in a lungful of air and can practically feel the woodsy burn, the muscle memory so strong.
“What about them?”
“We should figure out a way to do them this year.”
I nod even though it feels like my throat is closing. Sometimes I miss my father so much it feels like my insides are freezing over. Right now is one of those moments.
I guess that’s just how it’ll be for a while. Grief doesn’t have an expiration date. Or if it does, I doubt we’re anywhere near it.
“It’s what Daddy would have wanted,” I agree. “For us to keep up the tradition.”
Tally gives me a watery smile. “Okay, I’ll talk to Walker.”
Swallowing down a bite of donut, I try to focus on the present rather than the past. “God, this is good,” I say before turning the conversation back to the farm. “I’ve been making a little bit of extra money lately. Maybe I can help with the heating expenses?”
“Mom would never take a dime from you. Neither would Walker. But if you can get that hot boyfriend of yours to help out with setting up the maze…” Her eyes dance and I giggle.
“I definitely will help in any way I can,” I promise. “But Monty is under a deadline.”
“No problem. We can plan to both help out this week. Just let me know what day works best.” She takes a sip of her coffee and the whipped cream sticks to her lips. “God, you seriously need to give in and tell me what the secret ingredient is!”
“And lose out on all this lovely sister time?” I laugh. “Never!”
Tally curls up in her chair, a smile on her face. “You’re right. It tastes better when you make it.”
***
Hours later at the orchard I am the opposite of warm and cozy.
I decided to wear a red-and-black-plaid skirt with boots and a black sweater.
The outfit was cute when I was still in my bookstore, but when the afternoon sun disappears beneath puffy white clouds and an early shadow is cast over the orchards, I’m regretting my bare legs.
Monty and I have spent the early afternoon serving customers at the orchard.
Given that we were let off the hook with planning the Maple Festival, volunteering to help felt like the least we could do.
Not that I’m complaining. Because whenever there’s been a lull in foot traffic, Monty has tested out his awful fall-themed dirty talk on me.
He turns to me now, a coy smile on his face, and I know he’s about to hit me with another line.
“If your left leg is Thanksgiving and your right leg is Christmas”—his brows jump as he grins—“can I visit you between the holidays?”
I smack him on the shoulder as I let out an incredulous laugh. “Did you read any of the books I gave you this week? Your one-liners need help.”